


The Ruler is Unable to Respond

by f1rstperson



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gender Fuckery, Multi, Other, PWP, also everyone is bi or mspec, also i'm trying to put all the necessary tags, and they're both genderfluid aliens with only a vague idea of what being a cis human is, bsdm but like it's v light ish, but if you look beneath the porn you'll just find two idiots trying to get a leg up on each other, but it's been a while so if I miss any please feel free to tell me, cockworship, power bottom!master, the doctor is kind of an arrogant brat in this, topping-from-the-bottom!Doctor, what is formatting we just don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f1rstperson/pseuds/f1rstperson
Summary: She sighs and takes a second to try to imagine what the Master would want from her, what he’d see with her strap standing outright, him salivating for it, wanting it deep inside him.She sets her deep unrelenting gaze into the camera, takes a pic and sends it to him.'Thoughts?'
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 104





	The Ruler is Unable to Respond

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly i had this idea a few days ago and I felt pretty happy just trying to work it out, but then I realized the new episode that would almost certainly have Master based spoilers is coming out Sunday and getting this out before then so I wouldn't be tempted to include or work through new info became my deadline. So yeah.

The Doctor and her fam pass by a red light district in a future earth-based colony-planet that could be any one of billions of planets the Doctor has visited before.

In the window, the mannequin wears a purple strap-on dildo of an above average size, its plastic hips jutting out to accent the silicone piece, wearing only a cheap black suit jacket wouldn’t manage to cover anything.

Around it are all manner of more distracting and more obscene toys, vibrating, swirling, jutting, thrusting, corkscrewing, blinking, all their abilities displayed eye-catchingly and openly in ways far more distracting than the simple strap.

Ryan points and giggles, Jaz laughs more half-heartedly and blushes, Graham coughs and avoids looking at the display all together.

“Yes yes, well… Alright then… But if you’d really like to see something spectacular, let’s head towards the pier!”

The Doctor says, making a blatant show of looking away as if she was too embarrassed as well, but silently making a note of the shop, area, and very exact time she was there from start to finish.

She’s sent all manner of messages to the Master (through Whatsapp, which she was given via O, but after his reveal of being the Master. Not that she hasn’t been tempted to send all manner of messages to O before his reveal, screaming at him, asking him what the fuck he wanted from her, etc etc. Nothing good can come from that, not just in a “it breaks the laws of time” sense, but in a “I don’t think the Master would particularly be surprised if I yelled at him for his plan before it even happened” sense. The only reaction she can conjure up from that is his smug face and his smug voice telling her she must have really had it with him if she would break the laws of time like that, and no no no, that move wouldn’t be any good at all.)

In any case, the Master hasn’t responded to any of her texts.

“So how are you?”

“Really? After all that? After the vault? Nothing?”

“Remember when we were younger and I set Ushas lab on fire and you took the blame for it for me?”

“Do you remember that night your father caught us together?”

“How do you sleep at night, knowing you killed our entire planet, you sick bastard?”

Not to any of it.

That seems pretty typical though, the Doctor had had ways of contacting the Master before, and the Master, being himself, ignored all volleys of simple polite conversation.

As well as all volleys of impolite conversation.

Been there, done that. If the Doctor wanted to get his attention, she’d have to make a hyper-athletic serve.

The kind where you bounced the ball off the court and slammed it into someone's face and broke their nose, but none of the refs could technically call a foul on it because it was just on the side of too-incidental to get away with it.

Well, that was her favorite sort of play, if the hypothetical ref in this situation was holding her down and screaming in her face to the point where she was forced to be honest about it.

She comes back a few days earlier or later to that same planet, visits that same sex shop, pointedly doesn’t look at the shining purple dildo sitting on the harness of a manniquin as she walks in.

There may or may not have been several packs of ginger beers before this.

The concession person might be giving her an unamused look like she’s some simple drunk tourist looking to send take some raunchy pics for a laugh and leave without buying anything.

She might be returning that look with a slightly embarrassed drunk smile that she thinks said, “Yes, that’s exactly what’s going on, this is all a joke, I’ve never done this before, please don’t look any deeper into any of this.”

However, that all seems to change as she asks to see the strap into the window, in words that she knows are too direct and too knowing to support any of that awkward, ignorant innocence she’s going for.

To a very private amount of her own horror, the concession person relents and gives her a sympathetic look, and then turns away from her before she can put out any other manipulations to the contrary.

Despite the momentary self-consciousness the concession person inspires in her, she finds herself clutching the strap too close to her body and pushing into a cramped changing room.

She’s illuminated by harsh yellow lighting, feeling claustrophobic by the way the walls jut against her elbows and the curtain floats in against her shins.

The Doctor unthinkingly loosens the harness, pulls it up around her pants and adjusts it, the dark black lines cutting a stark contrast from navy blue, and the plastic purple dildo bobbing as she pulls all the way up against her crotch in a way that makes her imagination run wild and her throat run dry.

Getting the composition of the whole thing to work is so easy she feels almost frustrated about it.

Anachronistic modding of her 21st century camera phone does easy work of making dingy sex shop lighting look natural and flattering, and it doesn’t focus in too much on the too close walls of the changing room.

Still, there’s only so much to be done.

Does she smile, all cheesy- like?

No, she thinks as she views her shining teeth through her camera phone, that’s just too odd looking.

She sighs and takes a second to try to imagine what the Master would want from her, what he’d see with her strap standing outright, him salivating for it, wanting it deep inside him.

She sets her deep unrelenting gaze into the camera, takes a pic and sends it to him.

“Thoughts?”  
………………………….

He takes about four days to reply, which is absolutely a timeframe he’s chosen specifically to make her mad.

Even if he got distracted and forgot for 200 years, he could still come back and reply to her exactly after her message was sent.

He comes back with, “it’s a bit small”

She ignores her phone for a full hour and forty seven minutes of incredibly engaging busy work on the Tardis before deigning to even check what he’d said.

In the milliseconds it takes her to read it her cheeks flush in anger and she slams the phone back down on the table.

That bastard!  
The strap wasn’t massive by any standards, but it was certainly an inch or so bigger than any of her closer previous selves had been, and he sure as hell knows that.

For a second she feels a bit silly being pulled into a measuring contest for equipment she no longer even has, but then again, the cultural trend for time lords favors mid to smaller sized genitalia of that sort.

He had just thrown that out knowing it was an Earth standard that she’d most likely picked up and internalized.

Frowning and biting the inside of her cheek, she composes several bitingly acidic comebacks, several other extremely cold dismissals, one near incomprehensible wall of screaming all caps text, takes a bit of time to research some truly gigantic sex toys, before deciding to forgo all of it and just wait and see what else the Master does.

In another few minutes he sends another message, so predictable.

“Missing that particular part of your anatomy?”

The odd thing was, she wasn’t.

Well, at times she was, but it really turned out to be the same way she missed any other parts of different bodies she had had.

Sometimes she missed having curly hair, sometimes she caught herself in the mirror and expected to see a roman nose cutting through her profile, and she really hated how short her legs were now, but she’d been short before.

She’d been long, short, old, loud, young, dark, and tall.

The whole nine yards as it were.

She was always missing old parts of herself and adjusting to new ones.

It occurs to her that she’s standing there lost in her thoughts, none of which are productive for sharing with the Master right now.

“Sometimes. Are you missing it too?”

Immediately after pressing send she’s considers all the ways the Master might reply. “You wish”, or some hundreds of snide variations of it. She feels a wave of pre-emptive annoyance and quickly types something else to cut him off at the pass.

“I miss having you on your knees. Know the feeling?”

“I know it very intimately. What makes you think I’ll be the one kneeling though? After all, you’re the one who keeps ending up there.”

She snorts, but she’s not gonna take that bait.

“Why don’t we meet up and we’ll see who ends up on their knees? I’m very much hoping to see you, Master.”

Checkmate, to the victor goes the spoils, pop the champagne and all that. She’s grinning a little maniacally now.

“Sounds lovely. I have a few provisions I must insist on, if you’re still game. We can work out the details in person.”

She scrunches her face at her phone, but agrees. How like the Master to try to upend the board while she’s winning.

……………………….

The Master has handcuffs, a roll of tape, and some lube set out on his bedside table.

“Those are your provisions? Bit vanilla, don’t you think?” The Doctor eyes them incredulously, checking around the room for anything else that might be hidden away.

“Yup,” the Master replies, popping the end of the word through his lips, bouncing on his heels slightly. “That’s it.”

She picks up the handcuffs to inspect them more closely, checking for some sort of secret internal mechanism or hidden drug dispenser, even taking out her sonic to double and triple check.

“They go on your wrists,” the Master says helpfully.

“And this?” she asks, picking up the tape. She’s not sure what sort of devious things the Master would get up to with a roll of duct tape, only that he absolutely could.

“Goes over your mouth. To stop the, you know,” he makes a blah-blah gesture with his hands. “You’re always so gabby.”

Her eyes fall on the lube and she wonders whether or not she should take the time to try to inspect that for any issues.

“It’s got a warming agent, smooth glide, good stuff,” the Master says, winking at her.

“How about a safeword, then? I’ll just say it inside your head if I need it.”

He rolls his eyes at her but replies without much thought.

“The safeword is Prydonian.”

“Really? Gross.”

He just wiggles his eyebrows at her.

Damn him and his fantastic eyebrows, they really do it for her.

“Right then, since that’s all sorted, let’s get going!” He says, his voice far too perky, clapping his hands together and then sliding his arms out of his coat jacket.

She turns away from him and strips herself without any fanfare, leaving her clothes in a messy pile, before pulling the harness and dildo out of a bag she brought with her and slipping it on.

The Master has left his clothes neatly folded and is silent, his eyes raking over her body, glancing appraisingly at the plastic purple cock jutting out from her pelvis.

He licks his lips, but then seems to shake himself.

“Now then, Doctor--”

Oh. Oh no. The Doctor lets out a very put upon puff of air.

She knows that tone, that’s the “secret plan reveal” tone.

Damn it all, what had she missed?

He’s smirking at her, baring his teeth, and she’s sure she’s looking back at him with wide eyed shock and panic because she can feel it all over her face.

“If you’ll kindly lie on your back and put your hands above your head,” he says lightly, and she’s gaping at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“And then?” she asks, trying to figure out where his next move is before he gets there.  
“And then lie back and think of England, or whatever it is that gets you off I suppose. Though England is probably a fair guess.”

And then he’s crowding towards her and pushing her back towards the bed, toppling her back over it.

He leans down and nuzzles into her neck, kissing her, running his large hands along her sides, and she can feel the strap pressing into his thigh, imagines what it would feel like to feel his hard on pressing back against it, she has more than enough memories to supply, and he’s sucking gently at her neck in a way that sends shivers across her body and she can feel goosebumps prickling all over her skin, and--

“Hands,” he says, apropos of nothing, his breath hot and warm against her neck still, his voice muddled by her skin.

It takes a few seconds to even register that he said anything at all, and when she does all she can think to reply is,

“Huh?”

He pulls back and it takes more willpower than she’d ever admit to not to try to follow him up, claim his mouth and drag him back down.

“Hands,” he says, enunciating it slowly and mockingly.

He reaches over and grabs the handcuffs off the bed.

Oh, she thinks, and then curses herself for using his fake name, even inside her own head.

She raises her hands towards the bed frame, experiencing a split second of doubt, wondering if she should refuse or fight, push back harder for more of a reaction.

Then again, it was just handcuffs.

Well, and a very makeshift gag.

Nothing that would actually stop her from pushing his buttons really, just a bunch of props showcasing his superficial need for control over her.

Always a big show with him.

He clasps the handcuffs around her wrists and bends over again to grab the tape, tearing off a piece with his teeth and making a flamboyant show of securinging it lovingly to her face, finishing the whole thing with a little kiss on her blocked lips, cooing at her as he pulls away, she feels so unamused she thinks she might be channeling her previous self with how hard she can feel the lines on her face.

She bucks her hips up into him, rubbing the toy against his semi-hard cock, and he gasps theatrically, grinding his hips back down and rubbing against her in kind.

She hadn’t really thought about the logistics of having sex with the Master like this.

Well, no, that’s a lie.

She’s thought a great deal about how she’d throw him down on the floor and take him hard from behind until his knees were rubbed raw, or push him onto his back and fuck him gently until he was spitting and screaming at her to go faster, or how she might get too caught up and end up taking him rough and sloppy over whichever convient surface presented itself.

None of her various scenarios included how she was going to do that lying on her back shackled to a bed frame.

The Master travels down her body, groping at her breasts before taking her nipple into his mouth.

He sucks gently at it, rolling the nub back and forth on his tongue, sucking harder and pulling it in his mouth, and she can’t help herself from releasing a muffled “unf”, her legs shifting with a restlessness and a flood of heat heading down where she thinks (hopes) he’s going to end up.

He moves his mouth over to her other breast, presumably to give it the same treatment, except he lets his teeth rest threateningly against the nub.

He reaches over and pinches her other nipple brutally while moving down and biting lower on her breast, just enough to break the skin a little.

Her shrieks are swallowed by the tape, her eyes rolling back.

She’s unconsciously trusting her cock into the Master’s soft midsection as the pain and pleasure causes her body to twitch and jump like it’s being electrocuted.

The Master pulls back just for a second and flashes her a manufactured smile, all teeth, and Rassilon what she’d give to wipe that grin off his face.

She’ll get there eventually, she thinks, it’s just a matter of waiting for an opening.

He moves down, his beard tickling her stomach, and he presses his face into her cock and nuzzles his cheek against it, his eyes fluttering closed, he’s adoring it in a way he never came close to in her previous bodies.

It feels like a taunt.

He places he hand around it and gives the head an overly obvious lick, before hollowing his cheeks and sucking the whole thing down painfully slow.

Bingo, her opening. She snaps her hips upwards hard, hitting the back of his throat. He sputters and coughs, wiping the spit away from his mouth and needing a moment to recollect himself.

When he meets her eyes again she’s doing her level best to keep the look of guile off her face, but she can feel how brightly her eyes are shining at him.

He tsks at her.

“My, aren’t we eager? Can’t even control yourself around me, can you?”

She shrugs, or does her best approximation of one with her hands trapped above her head.

 _What can I say,_ she projects at him, _you always bring out the worst in me._

“Do I?” He raises his eyebrows, “Well, we can’t have that.”

He rests his hands against her hips, pressing down a bit harder than necessary to keep her still, looming again over her cock.

“Now then,” he says, pausing to press a kiss to the tip, “Please… Attend carefully.”

The last syllable is muffled as he begins to lightly suck her cock.

She lets out a dissatisfied grumble, lightly kicking at him.

 _Is this your great plan then,_ she thinks loudly at him, _you hold me down and throw all your favorite recycled lines at me until I go mad?_

He dips his head lower and takes more inside his mouth before pulling off her with an obscenely wet pop.

“Might be,” he says, pausing to open his mouth and lick her from the root to the base, his dark brown eyes boring into hers.  
She’d been imagining how all this felt for her in her past bodies, but trying to summon the memories just causes a strange sense of disconnect for her.

Her cock isn’t hard and throbbing, and she doesn’t feel that fantastic warm wet mouth pulling her in and out, and that pressure. It’s just plastic and far away memories of sensations, which are almost equal parts distracting and enticing.

Instead, she’s hot and wet, a strange ache pulsating deep inside her, and a sudden growing emptiness she’s becoming painfully aware of.

The harness shifts slightly against her clit as the Master works his mouth around her cock but it’s not enough, nowhere near enough.

She feels the Master nudge at her mind, wanting to go in deeper, and ignores it.

The next nudge is more of a mental shove, as expected, and she lets him wait a little bit more just to feel his anger build, before relenting and pulling him in.

He darts through her memories, dragging a handful of them out, pulling some of his own together, and then flits around her nervous system.

She’s slightly worried about giving him such free reign about her head but it’s drowned out by her curiosity, because she can’t for the lives of herselves guess what he’s trying to do up there.

And then all of a sudden she is very presently feeling her cock, she can feel him projecting the sensation of warm swollen flesh, and she can feel his tongue against it, thick and wet and wrapping around what would be the soft porous of the head of it.

She throws her head back and cries out, her hips twitching helplessly, still held down by his weight.

Once again he pulls back and giggles, and she can feel his warm breath on the skin of her cock while it’s still plastic, can feel the sensation of it twitching in his hand although it stays completely still.

Worst of all, she can feel his smug satisfaction at her enjoyment and growing need to have some sort of action. He’s still grinning, lips dragging slightly against her cock.

 _Would you just shut up and suck it already!_ she yells at him.

“Ooooo,” he says, in the same tone she used to throw at him in the academy when he’d gotten in trouble, and if she wasn’t currently being tormented by the feeling that she was seconds away from exploding she might put serious thought into kicking him.  
Okay, new tack, she’s not getting where she wants to be. Though ideally, where she’d like to be is standing over him, her hand twisted in his hair while she fucks his face.

 _Well that’s a nice thought,_ he says into her head, _I don’t think it’s gonna turn out like that for you though._

He bobs down, swirling his tongue around her as he pulls back up.

He dips back down again and sucks her hard, his cheeks hollow and holy hell she can feel it, the pressure, the suction.

 _Hey, here’s hoping though_ , he’s laughing inside her head now, the git, _Maybe you’ll find some way to turn the tables on me and get me on my knees after all. Though I can’t imagine how you’d manage that from your current predicament._

She almost certainly can’t come in this body like she used to, but she feels right on the edge of it anyways.

Her cock is pulsating, the sensation overlapping with a warm wetness and an urge to start rocking her hips against his hold.

Despite all that, despite being right there, maddeningly on the edge, she just can’t leave well enough alone.

_I don’t know what lense you’re viewing this though, but from my vantage point I’ve already got you kneeling for me, and I didn’t even have to try._

The dangerous thing about the Master, apart from a millions-of-items-long list of every other thing about him, was that she could never really tell when her shots were actually gonna connect with him.

This one rankled him more than she would have guessed.

He draws back and throws away the projection on her senses, and she takes a moment to squirm and whine in frustration, her cock disconnected and plastic again.

His eyes view her coldly, his face hard.

She feels dirtier than she has all night for the slight fear that goes through her, and the burning thrill that accompanies it.

He sighs, temples his hands at his face for a moment before getting up and pacing a bit.

As annoying as this whole thing is, she can’t help but appreciate his current body, watching the movement of his strong thigh muscles as he works himself up with a somewhat manic energy.

She’d really love and opportunity to be able to just sit down and explore him, tracing his warm skin, brushing her hands over the softness of his midsection and the broad stockiness of his shoulders.

“You don’t understand. It’s not about where you or I end up. It’s about the fact that I wanted you there, I set this situation up specifically to get you right where I wanted you, and here you are. Right. Where. I. Want. You.” He gestures at her, “You see? You really think you have any control over any of this?”

Oh no, she thinks, now she’s in a really dangerous situation.

With her hands tied like this and her mouth taped shut, the Master is free to stand there and monologue at her with wild abandon and there’s nothing she could do to stop him.

It’s not that she can’t understand the draw, hell, in most of her bodies she’s been perfectly content to talk through the entire process of sex.

Having a partner who had no choice but to just listen to her go on and on without stopping wasn’t a sexual fantasy of her’s per se, but it was something she’d call an ideal situation.

Hence her current situation with the duct tape.

But it’s entirely unfair, she can’t even argue back or mock him or anything.

And once the Master gets a full head of steam going it’ll be really difficult to force his attention back to the issue at hand.

It’s best to always have a trick up your sleeve, even when you are naked with absolutely no sleeves and handcuffed to a bed. Especially in that situation, the Doctor would argue.

 _Master,_ she projects as clearly as she can, _I need you. Please._

To stop talking, she thinks in a more quiet and secure area of her head.

For good measure, she splays her legs open, her cock bobbing between them.

He pauses and stares at her, his eyes locked with hers for a moment, always something so dark and unreachable behind them, before approaching her back on the bed.

Yes, she thinks privately, gotcha.

He takes his finger and traces a line from the bottom of her cock to the top.

She can’t access the sensations of having it again without his help, but her body tenses with anticipation anyways, and she’s reminded of how wet and aching she still is.

She moans gutturally, the effect sounding even more broken and needy through the tape. She’d give herself an Oscar if she could. An Oscar and a BAFTA, all the human awards, honestly.

Now he’s holding her jaw, his face dangerously close to her, still with that curious unreadable expression in his eyes, like he’s trying to figure out every aspect of her as well and if he looks hard enough it’ll reveal itself to him.

“That’s what you don’t understand, Doctor. This isn’t about what you need,” he’s stroking the line of her chin now, his eyes have dropped down to her still taped mouth, “What you want. It’s about what I want. And I’m going to get what I want.”

He pauses, looking into her eyes again.

“Do you understand?” his voice low and gravely.

She nods, and tries to look as solemn and understanding as one can with tape on her mouth.

There’s a momentary actual panic when he gets up and walks away, because he might actually leave her hanging there and prance off.

Both of them have done it before, enough that she hoped they both got it out of their systems.

But no, he’s heading over to the table to grab the lube, before crawling back over her.

He notices her anxiety and pokes questioningly at her mind, and then finds the source of it.

He scoffs, mumbling, “As if,” under his breath.

Trying to grin with your mouth taped is massively uncomfortable but she can feel herself doing it anyways, her cheeks rising and her eyes crinkling as the tape pulls her skin.

He leans over and begins preparing himself and for the first time she wishes she has her hands free.

She wants to feel his arm muscles tense and move as he works his fingers deep inside, stretching himself.

She wants to run her hands all over his body as he ramps himself and prepares himself for her cock.

The impulses are starting to buzz within her but she can’t move, an energy building inside her at the sudden, ridiculous realization of how immobile she is.

She fidgets her legs for a bit, knocking them out towards the Master’s knees. She can hear the soft squelch of his fingers pumping faster inside himself.

Without meaning to, she reaches out to him.

_Kiss me. Please._

He looks up but not at her, and she thinks he might ignore her anyways.

To her surprise, he reaches one final time and places a gentle kiss to her cheek.

It doesn’t satisfy, and he knows it doesn’t.

He leans back, bracing his knees against her, slicking her cock with one hand.

He holds her cock and presses himself down on it, rocking his hips slightly as he reaches the root of it, his dark cock bounces so differently than hers as he works his hips, letting out a breathy sigh.

His pace starts off light and teasing, he’s obviously experimenting to try to find angles that feel the best.

Still, the pressure of his hips bearing down on the harness is so much more intense on her clit than when he was sucking her off.

She’s moaning in earnest now. He’s still keeping most of his weight off her to make sure he can ride her, so she has the room to jut her hips up and meet his thrusts.

Despite not getting any attention where she needs it, every pulse of her hips ramps up something deep inside her.

It’s maddening, she’s thrusting her cock deep within him but she can’t feel it, can’t feel the tightness and low heat of his body, and every time her hips connect it makes her more aware of how wet and empty her cunt is, how much she needs something, anything.

She feels herself clenching around nothing as the Master lets out a particularly rough groan and it’s agony.

“I’m feeling… generous today,” he gasps, his breaths getting shorter and harsher, “Feel free to let yourself come… If the mood, ah, strikes,”

 _You wanna give me a hand with that?_ She fires back. She could possibly come. Maybe. In theory. But she’s certainly not running hot enough to have it likely to happen now.

He lets out a sigh.

“Lazy girl,” he drawls, “I’m the one doing, uh-all the work, while you sit back… Enjoying the view.”

She snaps her hips up several times, loving the way he grunts in response as she pushes her cock deeper into him.

Despite the differences in their bodies, she deceptively matches him for strength, strong enough that her thrusts have enough power to bounce him slightly as he works his hips back down on her.

In her peripheral she can see her breasts jumping up and down and she works into him.

The differences in biological strength for Time Lords are minimal the most part, with slight variations between different bodies.

And Time Lord (Lady? Lord? Both? Neither? Whatever, she’s beyond trying to piece that out right now) stamina means she can keep this up for far longer than any human would be able to.

His hand twitches, he clearly wants to take his cock in hand but holds off, opting instead to brush them across his chest, pinching his nipples hard.

The pleasure deep inside her keeps building but so very slowly, yet it feels massive all the same.

She can feel it in the pit of her stomach, her abdominals tightening with it, her whole body quivering with it, reaching every closer to something, building in a slow and fractured way, so tantalizingly close but just outside her reach.

The Master’s hair is wet and plastered to his face, and she can see sweat dripping down his temples and shoulders and body.

She can’t tell from her vantage point, but she feels soaked. Her hair is sticking to her as well, she’s damp with sweat all over, and it cools in a way that excites her more against the hot blood boiling beneath her skin.  
Her clit is throbbing now, held down beneath the harness, every movement brushing it just slightly, just so.

She’s so close to throwing the game, begging, pleading, saying whatever possible thing will get him to just give her that little push over the cliff.

The Master is close too, his voice low and needy, grinding his hips down instinctively and unconsciously on her, and she can see his hands digging into his thighs with effort to keep them away from his cock.

His thighs are trembling against her ribs, his face drawn in concentration, biting his lips.

 _Are you gonna come for me?_ She asks, her mental voice husky and low, _Are you going to come riding my cock, having me stretch you?_

He keeps moving frantically, licking his lips.

“No. No, not for you,” he forces out with effort, with anger.

She sighs, of course.

 _Do you need to feel me come for you then?_ She asks as neutrally as she can, even though she’s trembling, and for a second she’s happy for the tape across her mouth because there’d be no way to get her voice to sound so unaffected otherwise, _I’m so close, I need more, please._

He groans loudly and loudly and unrestrained. He’s riding her completely thoughtlessly, letting his weight fall fully on her and grinding frantically downwards, he can’t stop the litany of high pitched moans coming out with every movement as she bucks up just as frantic to meet him.

 _Come on, make me come,_ she says, her voice harsh and demanding, and she shoves herself hard at his mind, trying to get at the sensations he’s experiencing, at the final mental connection her biology craves.

He bears his teeth and fights her on it, closing her out, keeping her from completion in a way that has her screaming and tearing against the walls of his mind, and she can feel his need and urgency jumping like sparks from cut metal behind his mental blocks.

 _Master, please,_ she says, her deep calls muffled by the tape as she bucks up viciously into his body.

 _Now,_ she demands. _Give it to me now._

Suddenly the hard wall she was fighting against is gone and she’s in his head, feeling their bodies twitch and jerk together, her muscles tighten and her cunt seizes as pleasure runs like a broken dam between her clit and her g-spot, and that wonderful flood of chemicals prickles at her brain and all down her body, and there’s the sensation of her plastic cock shoving brutally at the Master’s prostate, creating a bolt like line of energy directly to his cock as she feels his balls draw tight and the overwhelming pressure of his hand working himself fast and hard, and suddenly he’s keening as he spurts line after line of come on her stomach.

They’re both gasping for breath and he’s slumping on her, and suddenly the weight of his hips and body against her are suddenly heavy and overwhelming.

She lifts her hips to nudge him off her.

Her body feels tingly and fantastic, and the Master has fallen besides her and is grinning into her neck, pressing light kisses down towards her collarbone.

Suddenly he rears up and rips the tape off her mouth, tearing a layer of skin and hair with it. Her skin is raw and red, she can feel it, and she lets out a long dead curse.

“Hurts, don’t it?” he says before pressing his face back into her neck and giggling, his beard hair scratching against the sensitive skin there.

She can feel his body, the hard angles of his bones and the soft press of fat pressing into her.

It’s warm and all encompassing.

This is the time, she thinks. To demand answers to all the questions that have kept her up at night. This is the real opening she needed, the Master pliable and satisfied and exhausted.

She could really pin him down and force out the information she needed.

But his mind is still loosely wrapped around hers, knotted like a handful of neglected wires, and her body feels stone-heavy, the bedding cradling her softly.

Exhaustion is hitting her in double, and she’s feeling the atron-deep and bone-wrung satisfaction of the Master.

She can feel the prickly, bubbly joy at the quietness of his mind, the sudden lack of pain or anger.

She feels him experiencing the blissful numbness of emotions that come over her, her doubt and anger and hatred and all the parts deep inside her that make bile rise to her throat melting away like colors in a vat of bleach.

She’s clean, she’s whole like the provisional mold for a sculpture and it’s glorious, untrodden and hopeful.

Her body and the after image of his body atop it in her brain give a sense of sated, sanitized bliss. There’s no pain or ugliness or vicious, tempestuous undercurrents.

She has one more push of energy to try to push herself up and take control, but the second she finds herself trying she feels the Master throwing all his exhaustion and tranquilizer-like calmness throughout her mind and body.

She feels the way his pulsating, cancerous anger has receded, and the beautiful churning current it leaves in its wake.

He doesn’t force her to fall asleep as much as he pushes her in a winding river of shared emotions, until she can’t tell up from down, him from her, her past and his past all swirled together in a vat of paint, muddy where they connect yet still stripped with color.

The Master and/or herself pass out. In her last waking moments she can’t tell if he/she is leading the action or if they both fall into unconsciousness like lines of espaliers tied and grown against each other.

When she wakes, alone and naked, mentally disconnected, she has a momentary panic of how she’s going to dis-tangle herself from the Master and sneak away undetected, before realizing he’s beat her to the punch and his bed is empty.

**Author's Note:**

> Been a while since I've written anything. Like years a while. And i randomly got the impulse to do this so... Here it is. It was pretty fun to write actually.


End file.
